


Dress for Success

by orphan_account



Category: due South
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canadian Blowjob Day Revival 2013, Challenge Response, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 13:04:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/966245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>10 Months after deciding to stick around in Canada for an "adventure," Ray Kowalski is beginning the process of becoming a Canadian citizen -- but his immigration hearing isn't Ray's kind of interview: "I don’t do well in interview situations unless I’m the one doing the interviewing and the guy on the other side of the table is in cuffs." Fraser helpfully offers an interview-prep solution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dress for Success

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Canadian Blowjob Day Challenge (revival!) 2013.  
> Completely un-researched (this is probably not how the Canadian immigration system works) and un-beta-ed.  
> Written at the last minute (deadlines, oy!) and also while mostly drunk. 
> 
> Happy 53rd birthday, CKR. You inspire women of the internet to some strange strange things. ♥

Fraser’s arrival home was heralded by the squeak of the door, followed by the rapid clattering of Dief’s nails as he burst into the kitchen, making a beeline for his food dish. “Ray, I’m—“

“Oh my God is it that late? I’m not even ready yet! I can’t! Ben, I’m not—“

Following the source of Ray’s frantic shouting to the bedroom, Fraser peeked his head in the door tentatively.

“Ray?”

“I’m not ready!”

“Ray. Ray. Ray!”

Ray turned away from the dresser and stood, shirt unbuttoned, holding a pair of pants in each hand but none actually on, with what appeared to be the entire contents of his dresser and closet scattered around him as if a whirlwind had passed through the room. His eyes glint of panic and exasperation as he looked helplessly at Fraser. “I’m not ready. I’m not even dressed. I can’t do this.”

“Ray, the immigration hearing isn’t for another three hours, you still have time to get ready.”

“But—“

“I managed to trade shifts with Constable Diggins so I could come home early tonight. We can drive in together, and we won’t be in such a rush.”

A vague sense of relief crept into Ray’s thoughts, but it didn’t seem to be enough.

“I still don’t know if I can do this. What if I fail? What if I say something stupid? You know how I am! God!-- and I can’t even make myself presentable. Half my clothes are too old, or they don’t fit right anymore, or they don’t look Canadian enough…”

“Canadian enough, Ray?”

“I don’t know, okay! I just… I’m not the most likeable guy and I don’t do well in interview situations unless I’m the one doing the interviewing and the guy on the other side of the table is in cuffs.”

“Ray, you’ll do fine.”

“I probably _won’t_ do fine, because I’m a fuckup and a loser and I can’t even manage to dress myself to _look_ like I’ve got my shit together.”

“You just need to relax.”

“I can’t relax. This is kind of a big deal if you haven’t noticed.”

“I’m fully aware of that, Ray, but panicking about your trouser selection won’t help in the slightest.”

Ray’s tone had escalated from mere agitation to outright panic. “Well, you telling me to calm down isn’t calming me down either, so tell me what freaking pants to wear, okay?! Blue or black?”

Ray was most of the way into the black pants, with the blue pair slung unceremoniously across his shoulders. He hopped on one foot, unsteady, more jumpy than usual today, and for a man whose baseline jumpiness is about on par with an electrified grasshopper, “more jumpy than usual” says quite a lot.

“Oh, Ray, just take those pants off.”

“Oh my god, you’re right, I should go with the grey suit, right? Right? How did I not think of that?” Ray dropped both pairs of pants, stepped one foot out of the black slacks puddled around his ankles, and began rummaging in the drawer, but his haphazard plundering of the dresser was halted by a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Ray, just relax.” Fraser whispered into his ear.

“Ben, I--“ his jittery reply broke into a gasp as Fraser kissed him behind the ear, in that soft spot on his neck where his hairline feathers out into the finest fuzz.

One of Fraser’s thumbs had snuck, almost imperceptibly, into the waistband of his trunks – a fact Ray only noticed when Fraser turned him around and backed him into the dresser – not aggressively, but firmly enough to shut the drawer as he leaned back into it. Ray’s attempts to formulate a verbal response failed utterly: he only managed to squeak awkwardly, as Fraser slowly sank to his knees, dragging Ray’s trunks down with him.

Fraser ran his cheek over the fine hairs on Ray’s inner thigh, moving his face up to nuzzle gently into the crease of Ray’s hip. He inhaled deeply, taking in the scent so strangely acrid yet arousing.

“Buhhhhh,” Ray managed to finally say. Fraser looked up at him with a sparkle in his eyes.

“I can smell your fear. I’m also sensing your pheromones. It appears, Ray, that you may be sexually attracted to me.” Fraser’s attempt at deadpan was betrayed by the smirk forming at the corners of his mouth.

Before Ray could respond, Fraser pushed his nose back into the warm softness of Ray’s scrotum, tenderly nudging with his whole face until Ray began to whimper. At this, Fraser slowly, oh so slowly, dragged his lower lip along the length of Ray’s cock, feeling the quickening pulse of his heartbeat beneath the soft skin.

Ray made another noise, somewhere between a moan and a cry, as Fraser’s tongue touched once just below the head of his penis. Fraser slid his hands up Ray’s thighs, one hand moving to hold Ray’s hip, the thumb pressing firmly into the hollow next to his hipbone. The other hand wrapped around the base of Ray’s cock, brushing his balls ever so slightly with his pinky and ring fingers, as Fraser slowly, deliberately took Ray into his mouth.

Ray stumbled in place, falling back against the dresser again, throwing one hand backwards and fumbling for the drawer handle for stability. He could feel Fraser beginning to move his tongue, as the warmth from his mouth carried into the base of Ray’s spine.

Fraser’s impossibly calm pace was more than Ray could handle. Ray took the one hand he wasn’t using to keep himself from falling over and grabbed ahold of Fraser’s hair, his senses more aroused than ever to the dense, satiny texture he felt between his fingertips. Ray held tightly, and gasped; the rush of air shaking out of his lungs finally defined itself into a single word: “Ben!”

As if this utterance of his name was some post-hypnotic suggestion that triggered Fraser’s animal urges, he shuddered into action, sucking and swallowing at Ray like a drowning man gasps for air.  Ray held tighter and began to rock his hips, thrusting instinctually, uncontrollably.

“God, Ben, Fuck, I… I can’t… Oh, Oh!”

Ray’s voice released a string of incoherencies, like all of the words he had been trying to say for the last five minutes suddenly burst forth all at once. This ejaculation of language was mirrored by another, as Ray’s whole body let go, pushed over the edge, and he came into Fraser’s mouth before he could move away.

While Ray was still catching his breath, Fraser reached around Ray’s quivering leg into the half-open bottom drawer of the dresser and pulled out a handkerchief, wiping his mouth with it as he rose to his feet.

“I seem to have knelt on your pants, Ray. They’ll need to be ironed.”

“Fuck the pants, Frase.”

Spurred by Fraser’s side-eyed glance, Ray explained. “Not _literally_ , Ben. One of these days I’m going to drop dead from you, you know. Between your Canadian humor and the sexual ambushes, I’m surprised I’ve lasted this long.”

“You’re not dead, Ray.”

“I noticed.”

“Have you calmed down, though?”

“Yeah. Yeah I have. And really, fuck the stupid pants. If your government doesn’t want me as a citizen, wrinkled pants and experimental hair and all, then fuck ‘em. Their loss.”

“It truly _would_ be their loss, Ray.”

Ray took a step forward and kissed Fraser gently. “Thanks, honey.”

As Fraser stepped into the bathroom to brush his teeth, Ray assembled an outfit from the pile of clothes surrounding him, and pulled them on. “I’m still nervous about this interview, for the record,” he called out.

Fraser peeked his head out of the bathroom door. “Well, Ray, there are other ways to secure permanent residency and eventual citizenship.”

“Like what?”

“Well, like marriage.”

“Hold on, are you proposing to me?” Ray stepped toward Fraser, confronting him in the bathroom doorway.

“Well, not at the moment. You see, this isn’t exactly how I had planned to go about it…”

“You’ve _planned_ to propose to me?”

“Ah, well, I at least envisioned doing it the traditional way, buying a ring, going down on one knee..”

“Oh my god, Ben, really?”

“Yes. You’re not… offended, are you Ray?”

“Oh hell no.” Ray giggled and leaned in to kiss Fraser sweetly. When he stepped back, though, he had that mischievous glimmer in his eye. “But I can do you one better than your imagined getting-down-on-one-knee proposal.”

“What do you mean, Ray?”

And with his hands on Fraser’s hips, and his thumbs through his beltloops, Ray got down on not one, but two knees. 

**Author's Note:**

> Added commentary/disclaimers:
> 
> Yes, I'm aware that gay marriage wasn't a thing in Canada until 2003 (in Ontario) and 2005 (everywhere else). Magical Realism, folks. Let's just pretend chronology doesn't matter at all.
> 
> I'm also aware that "trunks" wasn't the best word choice for "underpants" but "underpants" really doesn't sound sexy, and it was 1am and I was drinking, so, um, sorry?


End file.
